


Holy-Cow Tartare

by bogged



Category: Harry Potter RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-16
Updated: 2004-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:32:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogged/pseuds/bogged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first full-length RPS story I'd ever written. Rupert blushes all splotchy and Devon asks too many questions and I live in a dream world where Harry Potter actually has green eyes because Dan wears contacts. First published in the olden times year of 2004.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy-Cow Tartare

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know or own anyone discussed herein, as you could probably have figured out on your own, so please do not throw the book at me for defamation of character. Thank you!

A tall man with a tall nose and a tall forehead pushes open the weighty, mahogany door with some difficulty, stopping only for a moment to admire the intricate woodwork. He is immediately enveloped in his surroundings: the flooring made of smooth river stones, the brass Hindu statues and fountains spray painted gold; the maroon, pink, and deep orange silk tapestries challenging gravity and drifting up the walls with the incense smoke to pillow on the ceiling. He's so spellbound that he doesn't notice the two teen movie stars as the curvy waitress leads him past their low table to a booth made for one.

The waitress walks back towards the front of the lavish restaurant. Rupert watches the sway of her hips and the tiny bounce in her breasts, feeling almost drugged from the incense and the repetitive clings and clangs of the music.

Devon continues talking, completely engrossed in himself. "It was _especially_ painful once we were all old enough for lunch to become a social gathering and not just a place to stuff your mouth. Being eleven and having to carry around a purple, smushy lunch pail that was always sweating from my apricot juice? You're lucky your mum doesn't give a shit, mate, because—"

Rupert has dropped his fork onto his gilded plate.

"Er, did I say something wrong?" Devon asks. "Was it—was it the mum thing? Because I was just… I didn't mean it, honest. Rupert?"

One thing that really irks Rupert about Devon is that he asks too many questions without waiting for any answers. And he apologizes a lot, even if it wasn't his fault. And when he's asking his rapid fire questions and apologizing for no reason, he almost never finishes a thought completely. It's all very confusing to Rupert, who will either say a complete thought _completely_ or won't say anything at all.

And then Devon's cheeks do that thing they do where they flush up, but they don't look splotchy or red like Rupert's. They just… go pink. A full solid pink that continues on even as Devon offers Rupert an apologetic bite of the mushy stuff he's eating and half of the springy green vegetable thingy, which part of it is stuck between two of his bottom molars, and nearly all of his absolutely bizarre-o bright red dish cleverly titled "holy-cow tartare".

So, well, Devon is offering him food and he's blushing, and even though Rupert's fork had only accidentally slipped from his fingers, he pretends to be sated and smiles forgivingly and blushes himself—splotchy and red—when he accidentally brushes his ankle against the top of Devon's knee.

-:-

"Om gum ganapatayei namaha."

"Did you hear that?" Rupert asks Dan, who has his ipod shoved in his ears. Rupert immediately feels stupid. Dan saw his lips move, however, and takes out a headphone.

"Eh?" he asks, blinking a green-coloured contact into place.

"Om gum ganapatayei namaha."

"That," Rupert says, pointing half-hazardly behind himself.

"What the fuck?" Dan laughs. The sound wafts up from behind the concealing racks of similar Gryffindor costumes and boxes of stage makeup. Dan goes to climb behind one of the racks and solve this mystery, but an intern opens the trailer door after a quick tap.

"Mr Radcliffe?" she asks, timid. "You're needed now." She gives him a school photograph smile, no teeth and eyes off-center.

"You hear that, Rupe? I'm 'Mr Radcliffe'." He waggles his eyebrows and smirks, sticking up his chin, before strutting out of sight, completely hamming it up for the pretty new blonde. Rupert hears him say "Oh yeah, these contacts are much better. Aren't affecting me at all!" and laugh that laugh he only laughs around shy girls he knows he can get before it's absolutely quiet and—

"Om gum ganapatayei namaha."

-:-

"Devon! Hey, Dev!" Rupert calls to the boy walking in the parking lot a few feet in front of him. Devon turns around—half a banana sticking out of his mouth—and waves Rupert up. He trots ahead, takes a moment to catch his breath, and then continues, "Devon, I think I've gone mad. Are you going mad? I think I have, already."

Devon chews on the banana, blinking and squinting comically against the sun reflecting off of equipment vans' windows.

"When Dan and I were changing this morning, we heard the most shit-crazy sound. It was all omguhyahaniooolooopamoo…" Rupert trails off, his hands flailing in front of him.

Devon swallows his banana and smiles, a bit sheepishly, "Oh, sorry. That was me. It's real peaceful and dark behind those racks, and you lot always make a lot of noise trying to squeeze through them, so I figured I'd snap out of it if anyone was trying to get back there."

Rupert stops walking, so Devon does as well. "You know, I'm almost afraid to ask what the hell you were doing back there. But I'm still not convinced I've not gone mad, so I'm asking anyway."

Devon stares at him, blinking a few times. He sniffs, scratches his nose, the back of his neck, looks as though he's going to check for bad body odor while his arm is up like that, but decides against it and lets it flop down against his hip.

Rupert raises his eyebrows and blows his hair out of his eyes. He untucks his Gryffindor tie that had somehow found its way into the front of his trousers. He picks the sticky hair off of the back of his neck, and considers checking for bad smells himself. He decides against it, letting his arm come to rest by his side.

"Well?" Devon asks.

"Er, what?" Rupert asks back, feeling a splotchy blush waiting in the post.

"Aren't you going to ask me? You said, 'I've gone absolutely loony, Devon, and my horrible, perverted mind probably thinks you were back there eating babies or something, so I need to ask you what you were doing, oh amazingly sexy one.'"

Rupert laughs, tossing his head back and clutching his stomach. The sun beats on his eyelids and Devon's laughing, too, asking "What? What?" and throwing little pebbles at Rupert's chest as though he's a fully serious bloke.

Devon wraps an arm around Rupert's shoulders. It's a little uncomfortable thanks a bundle to genetics, but it felt like the right thing to do and he's a boy of his instincts.

-:-

So instinctively, he would be sitting on the makeup counter, legs wrapped around Rupert's waist, heels digging into his arse as the taller boy nibbles on his bottom lip, back arched and cock at the ready, although slightly hindered by cotton underthings.

And he blames it all on instincts when he begins chanting "Om gum…" as Rupert lifts him off of the counter to pull down said underthings and pull up said cock.

Rupert, against his body's good judgement, stops. He places his hands on Devon's moistened hips and asks, "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It's a, uhm," Devon sniffs and swallows noisily, his breathing heady, "a mantra for happiness. For the, uh, for the removal of hindrances and it… oh holy, it brings success."

Rupert bites his lower lip. "I see." He drums his fingers against Devon's hips. "It seems to have worked here." He narrows his eyes and runs a finger up the length of Devon's shaft. Devon gasps, almost winces. Rupert spreads the pre-cum across the head with the same idle finger. He smirks. "Keep at it, then."

His instincts agree.


End file.
